The Cabin
by freyjaschariot
Summary: Post 3.02: Oliver and Felicity get stranded in a cabin in the woods during a blizzard. A little bit fluffy/a little bit angsty.
1. Chapter 1

Snow pelted the windshield of Felicity's beat up Jeep as it barreled along I-54 out of Starling. Oliver had a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel as Felicity sat beside him analyzing the GPS on her phone.

"Take exit 17," Feliciy said, glancing up over at Oliver.

He nodded. His mouth was set in a thin line, his eyes fixed straight ahead. It was pretty much the only expression he wore these days. The fact that they were chasing down an explosive device that would blow five holes in the city right in the middle of rush hour if they didn't shut it off first probably wasn't helping with relax his facial muscles.

It's going to be fine, Felicity told herself for what felt like the hundredth time that day. They knew where a device was: in an abandoned cabin half a mile off a path in Starling National Park. Oliver had…incentivized...the bomber to give up its location. After which Felicity had promptly hacked into its signal and set the GPS on her phone to take them right to it just to be sure he hadn't lied. They'd be there soon and she'd disarm the device before the bombs could hurt anyone. Done and Done.

Her eyes drifted to the clock glowing in the dashboard. 4:15. The bomb was set to go off at 5. They were cutting it close. Why did the psycho have to hide it so far away? Oliver took the Exit 17 off ramp and stopped at a light.

"Which way." His voice was low and tight.

"Left," Felicity said.

A sign at the park entrance stated that all trails were closed due to the blizzard advisory. A gate spanned across the road, blocking their path.

"It's digitally controlled," Felicity said. "I could get out and hotwire it."

Oliver shook his head. "No time." He pressed down on the gas and the Jeep leapt forward, crashing through the barrier and most likely putting a good dent in the fender.

Felicity winced. "There goes my insurance premium." Oliver sent her a sideways glance.

"I know," she sighed. "Not important."

As the Jeep hobbled over ruts and tree roots in the dirt road the GPS on Felicity's phone pinged faster. After a mile the road ended in a small dirt parking lot. Oliver shut off the Jeep and reached for his seat belt.

"We'll have to walk from here."

Felicity had only just slid out of the passenger seat when a wall of frigid air slammed into her breath and ripped the breath from her chest. She pulled her pompom-ed hat further down over her ears. Snow danced around her face as she looked down at her phone.

"This way," she said, heading for the nearest trailhead.

They trekked in silence that seemed exaggerated by the swirling snow and heavy sky that pressed down on them through the skeletal treetops. Since the fallout from Sara's death, they had barely spoken more than two or three words to each other at a time, a high task for Felicity whose proclivity word vomit was legendary. Her silence was not out of spite; she worried that if she spoke she might say something she'd regret. The words she had spoken to Oliver in the immediate aftermath of the Canary's murder still haunted her.

_Sorry I have feelings, Oliver, but maybe if you did too—_

She hadn't been wrong. But the way his face had crumpled, just for a second before he refortified the walls they kept them all out, had cut her to the core. Just as the silence was becoming oppressive they stumbled over a ridge to find a small cabin with a crumbling chimney, a caved in roof, and boarded up windows nestled in beneath a few large firs.

"It's in there," Felicity said, glancing down at her phone which was now maintaining one long drawn out _ping_. She switched it off and slid it into her pocket before following Oliver up to the door. The wooden planks nailed over the entrance didn't last long after being acquainted with Oliver's boot. Soon they were stepping over the threshold into the cabin's one small room. Felicity let out a low whistle as she looked around.

"Looks like a tornado hit this place."

A legless paisley couch lay forlornly on the floor like a limbless wild animal. Grey stuffing pooled out of the seats onto the floor and Felicity was relatively sure that some forest critter had made itself a home of one of the cushions. Beside it, a small table lay on its side in a pile of brown crinkled leaves that had blown in through one of the busted out windows. Wind gusted into the room and swirling snow and leaves around her feet. In the back right corner of the room, a rotten staircase led up to a loft and to her left a partially caved in fireplace was embedded in the wall.

"Felicity," Oliver said softly behind her. "This is your show."

Felicity straightened her shoulders. "Right. The device must be upstairs cause there's nothing down here."

She made her way slowly up the stairs, taking care to avoid the rotting parts of the wood. She could hear the stairs creak as Oliver followed behind her. The loft was full of mildewed cardboard boxes stuffed with rusty corkscrews and yellowed newspapers. In the middle of the boxes, a moth eaten blanket had been thrown haphazardly over a lumpish object. Felicity waded through the boxes and pulled back the blanket.

"Bingo."

A silver cylindrical device lay at her feet. A small rectangular screen in the metal counted down to zero. It only took her a few minute to surmise the wiring of the device and cut the correct wires to shut it down. When it was done, Felicity smiled up at Oliver, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and waved her hand toward the device.

"One diffused bomb, Mr. Queen. Just like you ordered."

Although his face didn't change she thought she saw some of the tension leave his shoulders. Felicity was so relieved heading back down the stairs that she didn't noticed her foot heading for a particularly rotten section of wood. She let out a little yelp as the board gave in beneath her foot and she tumbled down the last few stairs. For a moment she lay on the ground while white stars spun across her field of vision. Slowly they faded away replaced by Oliver's face, eyebrows drawn together in concern. She made to sit up only to squeak and flop back down as pain shot up her left leg.

"Don't move," Oliver said softly. "I think you hurt your ankle."

His fingers ghosted across shin before gently pushed up her pant leg. She bit down a groan.

"It's sprained," he said. "We better get you back to Starling." He scooped her off the floor as easily as if she were a sack of flour.

"Hey, I can walk!" Felicity protested.

Oliver only raised an eyebrow and kept walking. "Trust me. You don't want to do that."

No really I would, she wanted to tell him. The pain of walking on her injured ankle would pale in comparison to the emotional damage that pressed up against him was doing to her heart. He stepped through the broken door and a Felicity caught her breath as the cold air cut into her exposed skin like a knife. She instinctively turned her face into Oliver's chest. The snow was swirling thicker than before and the air felt as if it had dropped 10 degrees. When they made it to the car Oliver slid her into the passenger seat as gingerly as if she were made of glass. Felicity swallowed and tried to bury her regret at the loss of his strong arms around her. She couldn't remember the last time he'd touched her.

Oliver got into the driver's seat beside her and turned the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered. He turned it again. It sputtered louder this time then died.

"The transmission must be frozen." He glanced over at her huddled form. "I'll call Diggle and ask him to come pick us up."

She nodded mutely.

Oliver ran a hand through his shorn hair. "We should probably go back to the cabin and wait for him. We'll freeze if we stay in here."

Felicity didn't complain this time when he hoisted her back into his arms. It wasn't that bad being cradled against him, she decided. She poked out her tongue to catch a few snowflakes and she felt a soft rumble against her cheek. When she looked up Oliver was staring straight ahead but she thought there might have been the slighted shadow of a smile on his lips.

Back in the cabin, Oliver laid Felicity down on the broken couch then pulled off his jacket, balled it up, and slid it under her injured ankle.

"Oliver, you're going to freeze," she protested.

"I'm fine," he said.

She wanted to snap at him that he wasn't fine. Not in any sense of the word. After Sara's death he'd adopted a cloak of asceticism so strict that sometimes she felt more like she was talking to a robot instead of fellow human. She knew he had a reservoir of emotion swimming under that guise but if he was determined to keep those feelings on lock-down there was nothing she could do about it. Oliver was a master in hardheadedness as well as archery and it was his life, his choice. Just as it had been hers to tell him that she wasn't going to wait around for him. So she bit down the words that were threatened to pour out of her mouth and concentrated on not shivering herself right off the couch. Oliver wrenched the legs off the broken side table with his bare hands (_show off_, Felicity thought) and carried them over to the fireplace. His body blocked her view of what he was doing but a minute later she heard a hiss and a pop and when he moved away a thin but bright fire snapped and twisted in the fireplace.

Oliver pushed the couch closer the fire then disappeared up the stairs and came back with the ratty blanket that had been thrown over the bomb device. He tucked it around her body as carefully as if he were swaddling a child. As he tucked the fabric around her shoulder she caught his hand.

"Thank you."

He just nodded and continued what he was doing. Felicity felt a stab of..something. Regret? He couldn't even bring himself to look at her. When he was done Oliver slumped down at the foot of the couch and leaned his head back so that he was staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," he said. "This is my fault."

"Oliver," Felicity said through chattering teeth. "This is not your fault. You need to stop blaming yourself for everything bad that happens in the world."

He murmured something so softly that she couldn't hear it. She didn't prod him. If he wanted her to know he would say it again. They fell silent again, watching the flames stretch up toward the chimney.

"You're shaking," Oliver said, after a few minutes.

"Well, it's co- cold."

"Itwouldbewarmerifwewerecloser," Oliver said.

"What?" Felicity said. "I didn't catch that."

He took a deep breath as though he was going to regret what he was about to say. "I said, it would be warmer if we were closer."

Wordlessly she lifted the edge of the blanket. Oliver hesitated, then slid under the fabric, and adjusted them both so that Felicity's head was resting on his chest. If anyone had asked Felicity two hours earlier if she could imagine herself huddled under a blanket with Oliver Queen anytime in the near future she would have said absolutely not. But something about the snow had altered her perspective. It was more than the cold. It was as if nothing that happened in this moment was real. Felicity felt completely unconcerned with the repercussion this cuddle session might have for both their emotional states later on.

"You know, I thought I loved the snow," she said ruefully. "I might have to revise that stance."

Oliver laughed and Felicity filed the sound away for when he inadvertently morphed back into surly mode.

"When I was a kid every time it snowed Tommy would come over and we'd make snow forts," said Oliver.

"Forts? As more than one of them?"

She felt him nod against the to of her head. "We'd stay out all day. We usually ended up with four or five of them all connected with tunnels and protected by moats."

She smiled at the thought. "To keep dragons out?"

"More like little sisters," Oliver said. "We should have just let her play." He sounded wistful that without thinking Felicity tilted her head and pressed a kiss to the underside of his stubbly jaw. She felt him suck in his breath and for a moment they seemed to be frozen in some kind of suspended animation. Then she felt his chest depress and he continued. "Everything was so clean and new. It felt like anything was possible. It was the happiest I can remember being."

Felicity ran her finger around and around the ridge of one of the buttons on his shirt. She imagined young Oliver, sandy hair flopping over his eyes, getting hit in the face with a snowball. The Oliver in her imagination spluttered then laughed, a doubled-over rib cracking laugh. She could hear it rolling over the sparkling snow drifts. She wanted to tell him that that he could have that kind of happiness again. But she knew he wasn't in a place to accept that.

"I'm guessing it didn't snow much in Las Vegas," he said.

Felicity shook her head against his chest. "Not really, no. But my mom used to read me these stories about magic snowstorms that made everyone forget who they were for as long as the snow lasted. I used to love them. Probably because for a long time I wanted to forget who I was. Be someone else. Now I'm glad I didn't. Forget I mean."

"So am I," Oliver said softly.

Felicity smiled into his shirt. "The first time I actually saw snow was a week after I arrived in Starling. I was coming out of a job interview and there was all this white stuff swirling around. I stood on the sidewalk for ten minutes just staring up at the sky and watching the flakes flutter down. Then I went back to my apartment and made a little snowlady in the front yard." She let out a low chuckle. "I got a lot of weird looks."

"I wish I could have seen that." He turned his face toward her and she knew he was going to kiss her. She knew she shouldn't let him. She could have stopped him. But she didn't want to stop him. And then she'd waited too long. His lips were on hers and the kiss was warm and soft, equal parts sweetness and bitterness.

It wasn't a reset button. She knew when they got back to Starling he'd still be an obstinate ass set on a life of deprivation and she'd still refuse to be the girl who refused to wait around for him to decide he was ready for more. But in that moment she couldn't bring herself to care. She drew the kiss out as long as possible so that when they finally pulled away they were both gasping for air. Their eyes drank each other in as though the weeks of avoiding each other's gaze had left them starved for the mere sight of each other. Oliver raised a hand and brushed the back of his knuckles against the ridge of Felicity's cheekbone. Then he bent his head and kissed her again. This time their lips barely brushed; it was just punctuation on a moment that was already slipping away. Afterward Felicity lowered her eyes and laid her head back onto his chest, letting herself meld into the warmth of his body.

"This doesn't change anything," she murmured. His arm tightened around her waist but he didn't argue.

"I know."

When Diggle found them there an hour later they were both asleep, wrapped up in each other, as the fire burned down to glowing embers beside them. Dig felt like a thief stealing into their moment of peace, shattering the truce that the snow seemed to have gleaned from them. But he woke them because he had to and when they tugged open their weary eyelids and realized the position they were in both sat up and quickly pulled away, as if each felt that the other was fire and neither one wanted to get burned. Dig was the one to carry Felicity back to his car. Oliver followed a few steps behind, head down, hands stuffed in his pockets, and the they drove in silence through the darkness and snow back to Starling.


	2. Chapter 2

The blizzard lasted three days. According to the Antonio Banderas lookalike meteorologist on Channel 6 (who Felicity may or may not have had multiple R-rated dreams about) it was the worst winter storm to hit Starling in over a decade. Businesses and offices shuttered their doors and even the criminal underside of the city seemed to be respecting the mayor's plea for people to stay off the streets, which meant that even the Arrow got to take a few nights off.

Felicity was secretly thankful for the temporary reprieve from their vigilante activities. She needed time to pull herself together after what had happened in the cabin, to remind herself that she deserved better than a distant _someday, maybe,_ which was more likely a nonexistent never. She deserved a _here_ and a _now_. In his own way Oliver had tried to give her that when he let her go. Now Felicity just had to convince herself that was what she really wanted.

The third morning after the onset of the blizzard, Felicity slid out of bed and hobbled over to her frost covered window to discover that overnight the storm had morphed from a vicious wolf that snarled snow and howled wind into a demure lamb that danced white specks down onto rolling snow drifts. Felicity felt like she was staring into the contents of a snow globe. The cars parked along the street were all but invisible beneath feet of snow and everywhere she looks the world was white, clean, and sparkling.

On one hand Felicity was glad to see the storm go. She had gone through six of the approximately 50 packs of ramen she kept stashed under the kitchen sink for emergencies and she had a serious hankering for anything-but-ramen. On the other hand, no storm meant that work (both the kind that required tax forms and that kind that meant working with a grouch monster who had special fondness for green leather) were back on the agenda.

Sure enough Felicity had only just put the coffee pot when her phone rang.

"Hello?"

"You're on your way in right? It's a beautiful day. Perfect for getting lots of work done." It was Palmer, sounding as though he'd spent the past few days playing padawan to the Energizer Bunny's jedi master.

Felicity yawned into the receiver. "Are you one of those people who're literally happy all the time? Cause I'm a pretty chipper person but that's really not going to work for me. Especially at—" she glanced at the clock "5:45 in the morning."

"Oops, sorry." He laughed. "I'll try to tone it down. I've just gotten a lot of work done in the past few days so I'm feeling pretty great. Plus," he said brightly. "I finally got the sound porcupine flatulence out of my head. I was starting to think I was going to be stuck with it forever. Like a particularly farty kind of tinnitus."

Felicity cradled the phone against her ear as she poured coffee into her favorite _Firefly_ mug. "How have you been getting work done? The office has been closed since Monday."

"I slept here," he said, as if that was the obvious answer. Felicity almost expected him to finish the statement with _duh_. "I'm considering making it a permanent change actually. It's given me the perspective to realize exactly how much I hate my commute. Which is a lot in case you wondering."

"You take a private helicopter to work!"

"And that takes a lot longer than just waking up here. Plus the pilot insists I wear a helmet and I get hat hair. You cannot imagine how much it affects company morale when the boss has hat hair.

"I really can't."

Palmer took her response in stride. "Anyway, get your butt over here I have things to discus with my new VP."

Felicity glanced outside her window where the snow was still piled up like giant swirls of coconut meringue "The plows haven't made it to my street yet. As soon as they do, I'll come."

"Great! Oh, and Felicity- blueberry or bran?"

"What?"

"I'm getting us breakfast. I was thinking muffins but if you'd prefer something else-"

"Oh, um, blueberry then. Thanks."

"You got it, kiddo. See you soon."

The line went dead.

Felicity stared down at her phone aghast. _Kiddo?_ It's too early, she thought, shaking her head slowly. _I have not had enough coffee for this._ Still shaking her head, she refilled her mug and carried it back to bed.

The plows finally made it to her street about two hours later and Felicity was just getting ready to leave when her phone rang again. This time Oliver's face flashed across the screen. Felicity's thumb hovered over accept for just a moment longer than usual before she actually pressed it.

"Oliver?"

"How'd you know it was me?"

"I'm psychic." There was silence on the other end of the line. She rolled her eyes. "Caller ID."

"Right." There was a long silence. "I just wanted to see how your ankle was." He paused again. "And to let you know Dig, Roy, and I are headed to Corto Maltese this afternoon. We're going to bring Thea back. It' time."

_How's your ankle and oh btw we're off to Corto Maltese._ No biggie.

"Oh! Okay, well I'm supposed to start work today but I can call in sick—"

"No, Felicity, listen this is your first day at a new job" _At the company you used to own,_ Felicity thought, _not awkward at all_ "and your ankle—"

"My ankle is fine, Oliver."

"Felicity, we don't need you on this one. Take the time."

He was using his 'end of conversation voice', the one that always made her want to carry on the conversation as long as humanly possible just to irk him. But if he was set on going without her there was not much she could do about it. There was a long silence during which Felicity decided that they were undoubtedly setting a new record for amount of awkward pauses in one phone conversation.

"Fine," she said finally. "Be careful then. And good luck." Her voice softened. "I really hope she comes back, Oliver. You guys should be together. Especially now."

"I'll let you know when we're back."

The line went dead for the second time that morning. Felicity stared down at the screen trying not to feel bitter about being left behind. Just a few hours ago she had been praying for more time away from Oliver. Now she was annoyed that he had given her just that? Her emotions were really starting to give her whiplash.

"Work," she said to herself. "I need to work."

Her fingers itched for a keyboard. She thought longing of neat lines of code unfurling across a computer screen. At least there was still something in her life that made sense. Oliver was right. She had a new job, a new boss, albeit one who seemed hell bent on blurring the line between creepy and charming (a line she hadn't even realized existed before now) and she needed to concentrate on that right now. She grabbed her jacket and keys and headed for the door. Oliver clearly wasn't letting what had happened in the cabin affect their relationship. Well she wouldn't either.


	3. Chapter 3

It was only her third day of work and Felicity was already having a hard time concentrating. Palmer had tasked her with accessing the data from the file server containing Applied Sciences' design work, which had been blown up along with the rest of QC's high tech goodies at Felicity's own suggestion last year in an attempt to thwart Slade's plan to mass produce the mirakuru. Felicity felt half amused and half guilty that she was getting paid to restore something she was responsible for ruining to begin with.

While accessing the data was relatively straightforward process Felicity kept getting distracted by how strange it felt to be sitting in Oliver's chair. At Oliver's desk. In Oliver's office.

_My office,_ she reminded herself for the hundredth time. But it didn't feel like her office. She felt like an impostor. Every time Felicity looked up she expected Moira Queen to stride through the glass doors with her cut-a-bitch face on, demanding to know who the hell Felicity thought she was, taking over her son's office like this. Felicity shivered at the mere thought. In her mind Moira Queen held the same amount of stock in Diabolism R Us as Slade Wilson.

Plus, how many times had Felicity stood on the other side of this very desk discussing her nighttime activities with Oliver? The whole situation just felt wrong.

"Maybe if I moved the furniture..?" she murmured to herself. She stood up. She shook her head and sat back down. She was about to stand back up again when there was a knock on the door.

"Indecision over a bathroom break?" Palmer stood in her doorway, watching her with amusement.

"No. Um, I'm just, ah." She ran her hands over her face. "I haven't exactly told Oliver that I'm working here yet. And being in his office, at his desk, in his chair…it just feels" she waved her hands over the desk "a little weird."

Palmer leaned against the door frame listening thoughtfully. "I see. If it makes you feel any better that's actually a new chair. I noticed that you roll your shoulders a lot which can be a sign of a misaligned spine. So I got you a chair that would support your back more."

Felicity held up a finger. "One, the fact that you noticed that is the kind of overly observant thing you probably don't want share with people, and two, that does not actually make me feel better." She slumped down in the chair and slowly spun around. "It is comfy though," she said, almost regretfully, "So thanks."

He smiled. "My pleasure."

"So what did you want to talk about?" Felicity asked, coming to a stop back in front of the desk.

"Just wanted to see how the data retrieval was going."

She sighed "Well, it's going. I've managed to recover about a third of the files so far. I'll probably have the rest by the end of the day, although there might be a few too damaged to salvage."

"Great, sounds like you're making significant headway." He turned to go but stopped short, rapped his knuckles against the glass, and turned back around. "And Felicity, you've done more for this company in three days than Oliver Queen did in his entire tenure as CEO. I know you guys are friends but wouldn't feel too bad about taking over this office. You deserve it."

Somehow, his words did a fair amount to assuage the guilt that had been niggling at her for days. By lunch, Felicity had finished recovering the rest of the files from the damaged driver.

_Take that, Moira,_ Felicity thought, smiling broadly as she hit end on the last of her task managers.

By the end of the day, Felicity was starting to worry over the fact that Oliver still hadn't let her know they were back. Three days was long enough to find one teenage girl on a tiny little island, right? She made a mental note to call him as soon as she got home. She just had a few things to to discuss with Palmer before she took off. When she got to his office, which was somehow even larger than hers, so approximitely the size of an entire floor of her apartment building, futzing with some digital blueprints on the touchscreen workstation.

"I need to see the package," she said when he looked up.

Palmer's eyebrows shot up. Felicity mentally face-palmed.

"And by package I mean software package. Not the one in your pants. Not that I think about what's in your pants because I don't—"

"Felicity," Palmer interrupted, "the fact that you think about my package is the kind of overly observant thing you probably don't want share with people."

Felicity scowled. "Oh stop smirking. You know what I meant."

"A software package is the programs or procedures or rules and associated documentation pertaining to the operation of a computer system that are stored in read and write memory," he recited. "Is that correct?"

"Did you memorize that out of a computer science dictionary?"

"Yes."

"Alright, then," she said, shaking her head slightly in disbelief. "Moving On. So I've recovered all the files—"

"Great!"

"But a few of them are double encrypted. Highly classified stuff. I can probably hack into them but if I had the QC package that outlines the system it would save me a lot of time. But only the CEO is allowed access to it so—"

"So you need me."

"I _don't_ need you. I need the package." She squeezed her eyes shut. "Why did they have to call it that."

"It's alright, Felicity," Palmer smiled gently. "I'm done teasing for the night. And I'll have the codes on your desk in the morning."

She exhaled deeply. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Have a good night." He turned back to his blueprints.

As Felicity turned to go she caught a glimpse of what he was looking at. It looking like some kind of metal robot. _What are you up to, Palmer?_she wondered. Then she shook her head slightly. She had enough problem of her own without adding digging into her boss's side projects onto her plate.

The stars glimmered distant and remote in the black sky as Felicity walked from her car back to her apartment, her collar turned up against the cold. The streets lights bathed the snow in a yellow glow and sent lavender shadows fleeing into the dips and hollows in the drifts. Felicity had just taken out her keys when she noticed a tall figure loitering outside the entrance to her building. A smile spread across her face. She would recognize the clean line of those shoulders anywhere; Oliver was back.

He had yet to notice her, which presented Felicity with a rare opportunity. Stooping down as quietly as she could, she scooped up a handful of snow and packed it into a tight ball. She had just raised her arm to throw it when he turned.

"Hi," she said conversationally, arm still frozen in the air. "How was Corto Maltese?"

His eyes crinkled. "Were you going to throw that at me?"

"Maybe," she said. "I consider it my civic duty to keep all the local vigilantes on their toes with spontaneous snowball attacks."

"All the vigilantes? How many do you know?"

Giving up on throwing the snowball, she dropped it onto the sidewalk, and walked up to him. "I will have you know, Mr. Queen, I get around." She squeezed her eyes shut. "Not that kind of get around—"

When she opened her eyes Oliver looked like he might be on the verge of smiling. Which, for him, was the equivalent of full-bellied laughter.

"I missed you," he said. The simple honesty of the statement did more to unbalance her than the strong gust of cold wind that suddenly blustered up the street, sending the hem of her coat flapping around her knees.

"I—," she said, "um, what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see how your ankle was," he said. The tip of his nose slightly red with cold. Somehow the sight of it made her want to wrap her arms. Or maybe she just wanted him to wrap his arms around her.

"Really?" she asked, crossing her arms to prevent either of those things from happening. "Or is that just code for 'I'm off for Dubai with Dig and Roy tomorrow and you're not invited'?"

He shook his head. "No. I really wanted to check on your ankle. It seemed like a pretty bad sprain."

"It's much better, thanks."

"Do you mind if I take a look? Sometimes the swelling hides a break and you can't tell for a few days. I guessing you didn't go to a doctor?"

"No, I didn't. And I guess you can look but I'm pretty sure it's fine."

"I'd like to be sure."

She shrugged. "Alright."

He followed her into the lobby of her building and then up the narrow staircase to the fourth floor. As she turned the key in her door she glanced over at him. She always felt somewhat self-conscious of having him in her apartment. Plus she had done a load of dedicates the night before and she couldn't remember if she'd put them away or left them on the couch to be folded later.

Thankful there was no underwear in sight when she pushed open the door and turned on the light. Oliver followed her in and shut the door behind himself. Felicity sat down on the couch, pulled the cream colored pump off her left foot, and stuck it out for him to inspect.

"See?" she said. "All better."

He didn't seem prepared to take her word on it. He bent down on his knee in front of her and his fingers skimmed over the delicate skin around her ankle. She fisted her hands against the couch cushions, fighting back the small _meep_ that threatened to tumble over the edge of her lips. How could such a light touch feel so hot on her skin? She had also never seen his head from this angle before. She was overcome by the urge to run her hands through his short hair, to trace the seashell curve of his ear. Thankfully he pulled away before she could do anything embarrassing like tell him his ear looked like mollusk.

"Seems like it's healing well."

"I told you."

They both fidgeted in silence for a minute then Felicity said, "So is Thea back then?"

Oliver nodded, his face brightening slightly. "It took some convincing but in the end she agreed we need each other."

Felicity smiled in genuine happiness. "I'm really glad, Oliver. Seem like you're good at that. Convincing people I mean."

"Everyone but myself." He said it so softly she wasn't 100% sure he'd said it at all or if she'd imagined it.

"Well," she said, standing up, and kicking off her other shoe. "I should probably get to bed soon. I have to be back at work at 7."

"Right. Sorry." He stood up. As she walked him to the door she realized that she had never been barefoot around him before. Without her shoes on their height different was far more pronounced.

"See you tomorrow night then?" she said.

He nodded. "Tomorrow."

"G'night, Oliver" she murmured, as she leaned against the door frame and watched him walk away.


	4. Chapter 4

Felicity did not sleep well. She dreamt she was standing on the snow covered grounds behind the Queen mansion. The sounds of laughter tumbled across the snow to where she stood. She meandered through rows of ice covered shrubs manicured into ambiguous shapes, searching for the source of the ricocheting shouts. Turning a corner, she stopped short at the sight of two boys having a snow ball fight in the middle of a frozen flower garden. One was dark haired, his round cheeks rosy with cold. Tommy, Felicity realized. The other boy was half hidden behind a snowdrift. His had a thick thatch of sandy hair and he was grinning so widely she thought his face might split in two. His features was rounder than the chiseled lines she knew but it was so clearly a younger version Oliver that her heart pinched in her chest. Oliver charged over the top of the snowdrift and both he and Tommy went tumbling into the snow.

Felicity watched their antics, smiling like a fool. Then the laughter turned to screams.

"Tommy!" Oliver was on his knees next to the other boy, desperately shaking his shoulder. Tommy lay in a frozen flower bed, his grey eyes lifeless marbles in his porcelain face as the frost beneath him slowly deepened from white to crimson.

Oliver looked up, straight at Felicity. "Help me," he said. "Please, he's _dying_," the word stretched out across the cold air like the whine of an injured animal. She took an unsure step towards him. Suddenly she became aware that she was barefoot in the snow. Snow was drifting up her pant leg and a frigid wind sneaked along her spine.

"Please," Oliver said again, "Please."

She took another step and suddenly the world was shifting around her. She stumbled as the ground tilted beneath her feet. When it righted again she was standing in the foundry and Oliver was there, the older version of him that she knew so well, the hard lines of his face hardened even further by grief. Sara lay on the med table in front of him. Dead: the phoenix girl who had risen from the ashes so many times only to end up here, dead for real this time and not coming back.

Oliver looked up at Felicity, his eyes empty, hopeless blue. "I'm going to die down here."

"You won't," she said, reaching for him, "I won't let you."

Blood blossomed across his white t-shirt. He looked down, "It's too late," he said mournfully. "No more time."

She ran towards him as he fell and they slumped to the ground together, Felicity cradling Oliver's head in her lap. He raised a hand to brush her cheek, smiling so sweetly it broke her heart. His hand was cold and clammy against her skin. She pressed it against her cheek as if she could force her warmth and life into him by osmosis. Her tongue tasted of salt and she realized she was crying.

"It was red," Oliver murmured.

Felicity flew up in bed, her heart beating so forcefully she could feel her pulse pounding into her fingertips, into her toes. The sheets were a sweaty tangle around her legs. She kicked them free and reached for her phone where it was charging on her nightstand. Her fingers flew through the contact list until she got to Oliver's name. She licked her lips, she could still taste the cold; smell the metallic scent of blood in the air. Her thumb hung over Oliver's name. She just needed to hear his voice, needed him to confirm that it had all been a dream. After a minute her heart began to slow to a normal pace, the sweat cooled on her skin. She pulled the blankets back up to her waist and slowly reset her phone back on the night stand.

There was no point in calling Oliver. What would she tell him? _I had a nightmare where you died, so please don't do that?_ He would soothe her with meaningless statements, _I'm fine, nothing's happened, don't worry._ As if she could just stop. And then he'd shut her out even more in his own messed up way of trying to protect her from getting hurt. Felicity didn't think she could take that.

She couldn't fall back asleep, didn't want to maybe, so she turned on the TV, pulled the box of nail polish out from under her bed and set to mindlessly painting her nails. She didn't realize until the morning that she had painted them bright red.

What she needed, Felicity decided, was some distance. Time to get her head on straight and perhaps a bit of levity. Basically, she needed Barry Allen. She got warm fuzzy feelings remembering how he'd stepped all over her feet while attempting to dance with her at Oliver's misguided attempt to throw a party for the recently released Moira. Barry was always bright and cheerful, like he had his own little square of sunshine that he carried around his pocket with his wallet and his keys. She could use a bit of that right now.

Unfortunately Barry didn't seem to need her since he hadn't called or texted since he'd woken up. She only knew that he had because she had asked Caitlin to keep her updated on his condition and, responsible as always, Caitlin had followed through. Plus there had been that very interesting conversation she had overhead between Oliver and Barry on the rooftop in which Barry had confessed to being changed by the lightning strike. To being faster. Which must've have been true because how else could else could he have gotten to a Starling City rooftop from Central City so quickly? Felicity knew she should be skeptical but at this point in her life she was open to believing in just about anything short of her mother going out in public in a pair of flats.

Barry was getting a visit whether he wanted one or not. Served him right for not calling.

"I need a few days off," she told Palmer at the end of the next day. "I have a...friend. He woke up from a coma. I think that deserves a visit."

"You look tired," Ray said.

_Ray?_ Felicity thought, _when had she stopped calling him Palmer?_ She couldn't seem to remember. It had just happened.

"I am," she said truthfully.

Ray nodded towards the door. "Go. But I can't promise I won't have a buttload of work waiting for you when you get back."

She smiled. "As long as it's not two buttloads."

Felicity stopped by the foundry on her way to the train station to show Oliver a few tools that might come in handy while she was away. She carefully avoided his eyes as she explained how to use the new remote tracking device.

"Well, that's about it, I guess," she said, tucking a loose stand of hair behind her ear. "An idiot to operate it so you and Dig should only have a little trouble."

He chuckled. "Only a little?"

She keep feel his eyes burning into her. She couldn't help looking up at him. He was watching her with a slight smile and such warmth that she was immediately reminded of her dream and how she had held him as the life had drained out of those very same eyes.

"So I'll see you in a few days," she said in a voice that sounded falsely cheerful even to her.

"Okay," he said hesitantly. "Have a good time."

She turned to walk away. As she laid her hand on the doorknob Oliver said softly "Are you sure you're alright, Felicity?"

She looked back at him standing there, arms crossed over a white t-shirt eerily similar to the one he had worn in her dream.

"As long as you're alright, I'm alright, Oliver." It wasn't a very fair thing to say but she wasn't feeling very fair. She pulled the door open and slipped out before she could see the shadow that passed over his face.

And that was how Felicity found herself in an impossibly expensive clothing store in the Central City train station trying on a dress that left very little to the imagination. It was a little black number with the kind of geometric cutouts that seemed to be all the rage right now. She had always wondered what kind of person bought the expensive clothes sold in airports and train stations. Well now she had a pretty good idea: desperate single women on impromptu booty calls. Not that this was a booty call. Could it be a booty call if there had been no call and one of the booties involved didn't know the other booty was coming? But if it wasn't one then why was she trying on a dress that hardly covered..well anything really? _It's not a booty call,_ Felicity thought. _It's a very simple 'I'm glad you're no longer a vegetable' visit. That's it._

She paid for the dress (which cost about the same as her last month's rest; she would never purchase clothing in a train station ever again) and strode out of station into the warmth and sunshine of Central City.


	5. Chapter 5

Felicity's attempt to distract herself from Oliver and their shipwrecked non-relationship with a visit to Barry 'if you ever decided you want to go on a date with someone else' Allen didn't exactly go as planned. In reality, Felicity mused, as she leaned her head against the cool window of the red-eye train from Central City back to Starling, all the trip had accomplished was proving that both she and Barry were illogically committed they were to people who, for one reason or another, neither of them could have.

Felicity's hand floated to her lips. They still had that immediate post-kiss tingle. Ten minutes before Barry had leaned across the aisle and caught her in a kiss that soft and warm and perfectly sweet. On Felicity's Richter scale of kisses it had barely even registered. Breaking apart, they'd shared wistful smiles that said quite clearly _well, we tried._ Felicity had a disheartening feeling that her kisses with Oliver might have broken that particular scale.

Stop pining, Felicity thought, as train swayed beneath her. You're not waiting around for Oliver, remember?

The problem was, she did remember. She remembered the way Oliver's hands had felt cupping her face in the hospital, far more gentle than they had any right to be considering all they had been through; she remembered how his lips sent shivers of anticipation, hot then cold then hot again, racing down her spine. For Pete's sake, she had memorized his goddamn heartbeat as she'd rested her head against in his chest in that stupid cabin. Felicity remembered everything and she hated it. Each memory was the sharp jab to her heart and she was tired of hurting.

Half the time she wanted desperately to forget all of it and start over. The other half she spent hoarding the moments she and Oliver had spent together in her mind, turning them over like pretty shells she'd picked up on the beach, interrogating each look and conversation, reliving every touch and every —

The train jolted on the tracks and the side of Felicity's head smacked into the glass. Pain shot across her forehead. She raised a hand to gingerly poke at the already rising bruise. Figures, she thought, wincing as her fingers brushed the injured area. Hurt seemed to be the theme of her life lately. Might as well have her outsides match her insides.

Felicity had pretty much known her mission was going to be a bust from the minute she ran into Barry and Iris in the Central City Forensic Lab. It had taken her about two seconds to surmise that Barry was in love Iris. It took hearing Iris uttering the word boyfriend and discovering that the title belonged to another man to realize that his feelings were not reciprocated. She found the fact strangely comforting. Like she'd found a kindred spirit while adrift in the sea of suck that was impossible relationships.

We should get matching life jackets, Felicity mused. Embroidered with SOS: Sea of Suck. Permanent Residents since 2014.

The trip hadn't been a complete bust. There had been that visit to the Central City Wax Museum, which had recently acquired a rather horrifying wax sculpture of the Starling City Vigilante. This in itself would have been vastly entertaining. Lucky for them, the sculptor had taken certain creative liberties in molding the size of certain parts of the sculpture's anatomy.

"Wow they made his—" Barry had said, as they stood in front of the wax version of the Arrow.

"I know, Jesus—" Felicity said.

"Don't bring Jesus into this—" He was laughing.

"I'm sorry, it's just. Wow."

"Is it actually that big?"

"Barry, I don't know!"

"I'm sorry I just thought—those pants are really tight and you hang out with him a lot!"

"Barry, I can't ever unsee this! Oh, God, I can't ever go home."

"Let's go. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

They had run out of the museum clutching their sides and dissolved into laughter on the sidewalk.

Felicity smiled at the memory. Beyond the glass, darkness sped by, fluid and all-encompassing, only occasionally broken by the orange lights flickering aloof and remote in the distance.

The train pulled into the station just as the sun crested the horizon the next morning. The platform was nearly empty as Felicity rolled her suitcase around empty benches and abandoned turnstiles. Diaphanous pink light filtered through the glass ceiling cast, warming her face before dissolving into the concrete floor.

Outside, the air was as cold as she remembered. Felicity hailed a cab and gave the driver her home address. Halfway there she changed her mind.

"Excuse me," she said, "could you take me somewhere else instead?"

She gave him an address about a block away from the foundry. What are you doing, Felicity, the logical, tired part of her brain said. Go home and sleep, you silly girl. But the other part of her brain, the part firmly committed to taking the illogical course of action in any given situation, wanted to see Oliver. And right now it was drowning out the calm, rational part of her brain its loud, emotional demands.

That part of Felicity desperately wanted to tell Oliver that he'd broken her Richter scale for kisses and that she was worried she would never again be able tell a great one from a horrible one unless it was him kissing her. In which case it would be both great and horrible. Great because _it was Oliver_; horrible because _it was Oliver_ and any kiss with Oliver could only end with heartbreak. That part of Felicity wanted to tell Oliver that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make Barry into anything other than a really great platonic friend; that 'moving on' was great in theory but nearly impossible in reality. And that part of Felicity wanted to shove Oliver against the wall and kiss him and kiss him until he was forced to give up his asceticism and kiss her back.

The cabbie pulled over to the side of the road at the address Felicity had given him and got out of to fetch her bag. She slid out after him and pressed money into his outstretched hand. As she walked toward the Foundry her emotions bubbled up faster and faster.

How could Oliver tell her they couldn't be together one minute and then kiss her in the cabin the next? How could he expect her to move on when he refused to give her the clean break she both craved and dreaded? How could he open the door to their relationship only to slam shut as soon as she tried to step through?

Felicity's hand shook as she stabbed the security code into the basement door and let herself in. She didn't care if Oliver was asleep, she was going to wake him up and they were going to have it out right now.

"We need to talk—" Felicity began as she strode into the foundry. She faltered as the door slammed shut behind her. Oliver was sitting in the chair at her workstation, his head cradled in his hands. He was still dressed in the Arrow costume. The lines of his shoulders felt heavy with...something she couldn't pinpoint.

"Oliver?" she said.

He looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed by dark shadows. He attempted a smile. It came out as a grimace.

Felicity set down her bag and walked to him. The closer she got the worse he looked. A long tear split the leather of the left arm of his jacket and a thin red gash sat atop a purpling bruise on his temple. Several day old stubble darkened his jawline. He looked like he hadn't slept since she'd left.

Of its own volition her hand migrated toward the cut on his head.

"You're hurt," she said. "Let me get you some ice." She turned to get the med kit but he grabbed her hand.

"Wait—" he said.

She looked at him questioningly. He averted her gaze.

"Just..stay here a second," he said.

"Okay." She hoisted herself onto the desk, watching him warily. "Are you gonna tell me what happened?"

He was still holding her hand, loosely enough that she could take it away at any time but firmly enough that she knew he didn't want her to.

"In a minute."

"Ok," she said.

They sat in silence for a long time, linked together by their loosely clasped hands. .


	6. Chapter 6

They thought they'd found a lead on Sara's killer, Oliver told her. A man in the Glades claimed to have been on a nearby rooftop the night Sara died and saw her fall.

Hope surged through Felicity. "Did he get a good look at the killer?"

Oliver shook his head. "It was a dead end. The guy was in trouble—owed some bad people a bunch of money. Said he'd trade his information for a favor.

Felicity's brow wrinkled. "A favor?" At some point Oliver had pulled his hand away and she felt its absence like a dull ache in her chest.

"He wanted me to take out the men that were after him. I guess it's gotten around the Glades that we're looking for Canary's killer. He knew I was desperate. He asked me to do his dirty work." Bitterness tinged Oliver's voice. His hands fisted on the desk. "So I did. Five mobsters tied up neat and tidy at his feet. Only the guy didn't have any information. When I found out I…got a little carried away." His hand floated to the scrap on his head. "Dig and Roy pulled me off him."

Felicity bit her lip. So the injury was the result of friendly fire, not a bout with Sara's killer. "He shouldn't have lied—"

"I shouldn't have lost control!" Oliver slammed his fist into the table. Felicity's computers rattled anxiously but his anger dissipated as quickly as it had blossomed. He dragged his hands down his face. "We're not getting anywhere. Sara deserves better. I should be able to give her better."

"We'll figure out what happened," Felicity said. "Together."

He heaved a sigh then looked up at her and attempted a smile. "Tell me something. I could use a distraction. How was your trip?"

She pushed out her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Oh, it was pretty uneventful. There was a crazy guy with freeze gun. So, you know, the usual."

"A freeze gun? Are you alright?"

She waved away his concern. "Oh, yeah we took care of him with an industrial vacuum, no biggie. Oh, and I saw you in a wax museum!"

"Me?"

"Well, the Arrow anyway."

He smiled. "Did I look good?"

"They gave you a very impressive package," she said honestly.

He continued smiling, eyebrows raised expectantly.

It occurred to Felicity that he thought she'd made a sexual innuendo by accident and he was waiting for her to correct herself as usual.

"I'm sorry," she said, "Let me rephrase: they made your junk ginormous."

Oliver's smile faltered. "They—?"

She nodded and held up her hands so that they were a foot apart. "Huge," she mouthed.

Oliver's eyebrows shot up for a second time. Then he laughed. Or chuckled. Which was as close to a laugh as she had ever encountered from Oliver Queen.

"I'll have to write them a thank you note," he said. "For the good publicity."

"I would say so." She grinned. "Soon you'll have half the female population of Central City knocking on your door. And probably some of the men too."

"As long as they don't mind waiting awhile," he said. "I've got my eye on someone else." His smile slipped and he ran his hand over the back of his head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"It's okay." Felicity smiled through the dull ache in her chest. She had the overwhelming urge to tell Oliver about her kiss with Barry and how all it had accomplished was convince her that the only person she wanted to kiss her was him.

Yet the rational part of her brain had taken charge once again and it quickly squashed the impulse. She stood up and squeezed his shoulder. The worn leather was soft, warm, and familiar beneath her fingers.

"I should go home and sleep. Are you sure I can't get you some ice before I go?" she said.

He shook his head. "I'll do it." He pointed to the bump on her forehead. "Speaking of bruises— how'd you get that?"

"Oh this old thing?" She smiled brightly. "Putting the beat down on some thugs, of course."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine. I smashed it against the window on the train back."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "Having a hard to avoiding those inanimate objects, Smoak?"

"It wasn't my fault! I get motion sickness so I took a bunch of these tablets things to make me, you know, not hack everywhere, only the pharmacy was out of the non-drowsy kind so I bought the make-you-really-sleepy kind and then I started to fall asleep against the window. And thunk—" she feigned hitting herself in the forehead. "So sue me. _Queen_," she added as an afterthought.

He smiled in a way that was—the word that came to mind was goofy. Felicity felt a burst of pride.

"Well I better go," she said. "Palmer will have my head on a plate if I miss another day of work."

"Palmer will—?"

Felicity froze and squeezed her eyes shut. Leave it up to Felicity Smoak to out herself after days of trying to find the best possible way to break the news of her new employer. She slowly opened her eyes. Oliver was watching her, waiting for her to explain. For the hundredth time she cursed his impenetrable poker face. Was he angry? It was a useless line of questioning. Unless he wanted her to know she wouldn't.

"Oliver—"

A phone rang. It was the cell Lance used to contact the Arrow. _Now?_ Felicity thought, glancing at her watch. _It's 8:30 in the morning._

Oliver picked it up. "What," he growled.

Felicity heard Captain Lance's voice on the other end.

"I know you've got a vampire thing about the sunlight but I could really use your help with a hold up situation going down right now."

"Where."

Lance told him. Oliver hung up the phone and reached for his bow.

"This is a bad idea," Felicity said, following him to the arrow stand. "There's a reason we only engage in nighttime activities. Not that kind—you know what I mean. Someone might recognize you, Oliver."

"These people need help."

"You are not responsible for every crime that happens in this city." She grabbed his arm and gazed up at him imploringly. "There's something to be said for picking your battles." Standing this close to him she could smell the sharp mixture of sweat, forest, and aftershave that clung to him like a second skin. Weariness was etched into the hard line of his mouth and the shadows beneath his eyes.

"Felicity, I couldn't stop what happened to Sara. I can stop this."

"And I understand that, really I do. But you won't bring Sara back by putting away petty criminals. And you might get yourself caught in the process."

She was fighting a losing battle and she knew it. He was going to go whether he had her blessing or not. But the hardheadedness that was driving him out the door at this very moment was the same hardheadedness that had led him to decide that he couldn't be both Oliver Queen and the Arrow. He had chosen the Arrow that night and in a way, she had lost him. She didn't want to lose him again.

"I'm going," he said.

"This is a bad decision."

They stared each other down, neither one willing to give an inch.

"And you working for Palmer?" Oliver said quietly. "What kind of decision is that?"

She faltered. "You know." It wasn't a question; he knew. They were too close; it would be ridiculously easy for Felicity to stretch up on her tippy toes and kiss the hollow beneath his neck, the hard line of his jaw, his lips—

As though he could read her mind, Oliver folded his arms, blocking himself off. "Despite my academic track record, Felicity, I'm not actually stupid."

"I know that. I—" Felicity bit her bottom lip, her hands twisting into the fabric of the long sweater she'd worn on the train. "I didn't know how to tell you."

"How about "'By the way I accepted a job at QC'. It's not that hard."

"You had so much going on with Sara and the League breathing down your back. I didn't want—"

He rested his hands on her shoulders. As usual, heat shot through her at his touch.

"Felicity, I don't care that you're working there. I don't care that you're working with…him. I'm frustrated that you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth. We're supposed to be…" He faltered as if what they were supposed to be had escaped him entirely. Felicity knew the feeling.

"Partners," he said finally. "We're supposed to trust each other."

She hated that he was being so rational about this.

"Do you trust me?" he asked. His blue eyes were searing into her. She wanted to look away but they held her in a vicelike grip.

I love you, you stupid man, she wanted to say. Of course I trust you. It was the first time she had allowed the word love to even enter into her consciousness in weeks and the full force of her longing in that instant was like a sucker punch to the gut.

She had a flashback to their first real exchange- the conversation in Big Belly Burger when she'd given him Moira's journal. You can trust me, he'd said. And she had. She still did. Perhaps she just trusted herself around him a little less.

"Yes," she said. "I trust you."

He nodded. "Then we don't have to talk about it anymore."

"Oliver—"

"I have to go."

"I still think this is a bad idea," she called after him.

He kept walking.

"Lance isn't blind you know!"

He disappeared out the door without looking back.

As soon as Felicity got home she threw her stuff on the couch and flipped the TV to the nearest news channel.

"All morning we've been following the story of a hostage situation unfolding at Starling National. We can now report with certainty that authorities have secured the release of all five of the hostages." The anchor's voice was layered over a video of people running out of the bank into the waiting arms of several police officers. "While rumors are swirling that the Arrow was somehow involved in the hostages' release, so far no evidence has emerged to support this theory. With more on the story from Starling National, here's Pete Sanders. What's the situation looking like down there, Pete? "

Whatever Pete said, Felicity missed it because she had flopped on the couch and buried her face in the pillows. So Oliver hadn't been seen. But he could have. But he wasn't, she reminded herself. Oliver Queen was going to give her ulcers. She would be surprised if the doctor didn't find at least three of them at her next visit.

Felicity sat up and pffed a few hairs out of her eyes. Just a week ago she had sat on this couch while Oliver inspected her ankle and she ogled his ear. It felt like years had passed since then. Whatever 'they' were now, it was so far beyond convoluted that Felicity was relatively sure there was no one word in the English language that could encapsulate it.

On the plus side, she thought, with all these feelings swirling around inside her, she had the perfect excuse to polish off the pint of Ben and Jerry's in her freezer. Who cared that it was barely 9:30 in the morning. Felicity dragged herself off the couch and rummaged around in the utensil drawer for a spoon.

_If only these two were the only men in my life,_ she thought as she pulled the container of Rocky Road from the freezer. _Everything would be so much simpler._


End file.
